Please Speak Softly
by bedbugsy
Summary: You doubt anyone's denied her anything a day in her life. One-shot. Femslash.


Authors Note: Also something I wrote a while back, but thought I'd share. Crossover with Law and Order: SVU, non-cannon, one-shot. :) Enjoy!

Her glasses are sliding down the bridge of her nose, the buttons of her shirt are uneven and her bare feet are sticking out of black trousers that are clearly too big. She's got the lights dimmed low, and something soft coming from the speakers in the living room. It's a simple sight, one of being safe, and home, and comfortable.

You've never seen a anything so beautiful.

"Rough night?"

Your keys clatter onto the desk and your heels fly to the other side of the room with two satisfying thunks. Her smile widens as you flop onto the bed next to her, completely disrupting her stack of half graded sketches. Without looking, you know that she's giving them all A's.

"I hate lawyers." You grumble, burying your face into her pillow. Your assaulted with the smell of her hair, and take a deep breath, holding as much of her scent inside of you as you can before releasing.

"Then why did you go to law school?" She teases you, rolling over to straddle you, her hands slowly massaging your back. The sensation temporarily distracts you from her question.

"To get filthy rich?"

"Check."

"To get the chicks?" She delivers a swat to your side.

"Check."

"To be closer to that glorious, pleasant woman Elizabeth Donnelly?"

She genuinely laughs at that, having encountered Liz at more than enough Christmas parties.

"So quit." She says it simply, ever the idealist. Sometimes you love that about her, that she will spontaneously take a week off, book tickets to Paris, con you into using your precious vacation time. Other times, when you come home to a mural of all the characters from Friends scrawled across the bathroom wall, or every piece of leather furniture replaced with those "not made of dead baby cows", you wonder what makes you stay.

But then she looks at you with those big brown eyes and sticks out her bottom lip and before you know it you're naked, in the shower, sighing her name. You doubt anyone's denied her anything a day in her life.

"I'll get right on that." You go for the sarcastic route, choosing to prevent another fight.

Her hands work their way up and down your back, across your shoulder blades, along your spine, slipping under your blue dress shirt to skim soft skin. In this moment, with her weight sinking you down into the mattress, and her hair falling against your back and her breath in your ear, you know you have no choice but to love her completely.

"Olivia called." She says it slowly, and you know that she put off telling you so that you could have a few minutes together for once, but it still irritates you. Before you can get sucked into her spell any further you squirm out from under her, leaving her on her knees on the bed, pouting like a child.

"Em!"

"Sorry." She rolls onto her back, picking up the messy stack of sketches and her red pen once more.

"I'll be back later." But you can tell from the way she pushes up her glasses, flicks the pen in a giant C that she doesn't believe you.

So you don't kiss her goodbye.

Hours later, with the smell of cigar smoke on your clothes and a head ache the size of China, you come in through the front door once again. The nights case was open and shut, just some paper work and signing a few things, thank god.

"Baby?" The lights are out and for a moment you wonder if she went out with Derek, but then you hear it. Quiet cursing, hurried shuffling, a loud thud. A minute later she emerges, in a wife beater and her boxer briefs. Her hair is sticking out in all directions, and there are scratch marks down her neck.

"Hey." She gives a little wave.

All you can do is blink at her.

"Why don't we get you something to drink?" She asks, the picture of innocence, gesturing for you to head to the kitchen. "You look beat."

Again, you simply stare at her.

"Or how about a shower? I'll get you some clean clothes, you hop in." Her hands shift from pointing to the kitchen to the bathroom.

You don't realize you're crying until a tear splashes onto your expensive leather brief case. The brief case she got you for Christmas last year.

You drop it like you'd been holding a live snake and she sighs.

"Casey-"

"Get her out here." You're trying to use your lawyer voice, trying to be strong and brave. You're failing miserably.

Emily stares at you for a moment too long, as if trying to weigh whether or not she can still convince you that she's alone. After a beat she turns and goes into the bedroom, coming back a second later with another woman in tow.

"Of course!" You laugh raspily, because of course your girlfriend has been fucking Jennifer Jareau behind your back. Of course all the times you heard, "No, baby, we're just colleagues. Not even friends." and "Oh please, I'm an artist! Math teachers aren't even my type!" were lies.

You're a lawyer. You know a lie when you see one.

"Hi...Casey." JJ is still half naked, wearing only a bra and Emily's slacks from earlier. You want to slap her, kill her, throw her in jail until she's old enough to collect social security, but you can't move.

Because Emily is holding her hand. Because they just look so perfect together, even if Emily looks defiant and JJ looks terrified. The scent of sex lingers between them, and JJ is glowing like a lightbulb, and it's all so beautiful and tragic that you can't stand it.

Because they're standing, beautiful together, in the middle of the home you used to share. One more look into Emily's eyes leaves you knowing exactly what she's going to say, and exactly how you will either a) lose her, or b) be fool enough to stay with her.

So you don't say anything. You just turn and leave.

She doesn't even try to stop you.

FIN.


End file.
